Value and Worth
by Primrue
Summary: Through ways no one knows, Bartemius Crouch Jr is back. His soul was returned to his body and now people want to know how. Hermione is tasked to find out the answer, but will her time spent with the former Death Eater really get her any closer to the truth, or will it only serve to make her realise something about herself instead?
1. Chapter 1

Value and Worth, chapter 1

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~o0o~

* * *

She didn't want to be here.

She _really_ didn't want to be here.

Hermione walked along the rotting halls of Azkaban, attempting to ignore the cold that seemed to seep into her bones despite the removal of Dementors. Trying to breathe despite the stuffy feeling the narrow stone walls provided. Every now and then she swore she could hear someone wail, but another part of her brain countered with the possibility of strong winds. She settled for thinking it was the latter. Mostly for her own sanity.

And while on the subject of sanity . . .

Hermione had a reason for appearing at the wizard prison, and it was not simply as an Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries. No, it had also to do with her apparent history with the perpetrator she was to visit shortly.

 _History_.

Hermione snorted mentally. As one of Harry Potter's best friends, every Death Eater in here would deem having history with her.

 _Well, sorry to say it, but your Dark Lord was defeated. Get over it._

So who was this mystery prisoner she was supposed to meet, and why had her higher-ups deemed her essential to help determine the strength of said prisoner's sanity? Wouldn't a mind healer have proved the more obvious choice? With those thoughts gnawing in the back of her mind, Hermione entered the office she'd been told to wait in while the warden made his way to her and took a seat. She had been too early it seemed.

The wails could be heard even here, and she had to restrain herself from casting a spell to make it stop. She would no doubt face something far more concerning than noises, and she forced herself therefore to keep her head. Wouldn't do to let them know that the place was already getting to her. She was young still and eager to show she deserved a place among the Unspeakables. It was too bad her mentor wasn't allowed to join. Apparently the matter was so delicate that even that had been deemed too much.

Which only intrigued Hermione more, and did absolutely nothing to quell her curiosity.

It was when the warden arrived—not looking at all apologetic for being several minutes late, his face devoid of emotion and manner clearly displaying a lack of concern for the humans he was in charge of—that Hermione's curiosity was quenched. And for the first time she wished she'd known less.

"Forgive me," she said, "but I'm not sure I follow—you're saying he's returned? But that's impossible!"

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that this situation proves that it very much is possible," said Warden Molesly. He conjured a parchment and a quill. "I'll need you to sign this confidentiality agreement, and also something that doesn't hold us responsible should anything befall you in here—"

"This is absurd! I haven't even agreed to . . ." Hermione took a deep breath, ignoring the faint scent of mildew that followed. She went over the options quickly in her head. Either she declined and risked losing her job, or she took on this highly unique and predictably dangerous assignment . . . She sighed, hoping that the Sorting Hat was happy for what his placing her in Gryffindor would lead to, yet again. "I accept."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The first thing Hermione noticed was the darkness. There was no light to be had except for from a small window overlooking the ocean. Whatever they'd thought he'd need it for she wasn't even sure, considering he'd previously been in no state to know the difference. The lack of care she'd seen at this place had already influenced her in the sense that she grew surprised at every little 'luxury' she could find was given to the prisoners. It was barbaric. Despite what they'd all done, the treatment of them was barbaric. And what if another Sirius turned up at this place? Having to suffer like this, while being wrongfully imprisoned. No, she'd simply have to speak with Kingsley once she returned to London.

Shifting her attention back to the cell she was to sit in front of, she noted that there was also a mattress on the floor. Dirty, but not too worn. So, a mattress and a view. It wasn't much, but at least it was something for him to comfort himself with now that his mind was back. If people like him took comfort in anything.

She found a chair had been placed along the wall outside the cell and she dragged to the center in front of the cell. The loud sound made him flinch where he sat. Or so Hermione thought. It really was difficult to see.

"Incendio."

Immediately the room lit up. It was lucky someone had thought to put torches along the walls, no matter how long ago. Feeling a bit more at ease being able to properly see her surroundings, Hermione looked to him again.

Barty Crouch Jr.

He was still huddled against the wall of his cell, but now he faced Hermione's gaze head on and it took all in her not to jump in surprise. If she'd had any skepticism left in her body after the meeting with the warden it was gone now, because no one could look at her this intensely and be without a soul. However rotten.

She cleared her throat. "Mr. Crouch, I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm Hermione Granger."

No response. Just dark eyes staring at her.

"I was your student for a while. When you posed as Alastor Moody. At Hogwarts. I realise it's been ten years since then, but . . ." Her words faltered as she thought of how weird this all felt. Why was she speaking pleasantly with this man? He'd been a devoted follower of Voldemort, he had kept Professor Moody in a trunk for a year, he'd been there to torture Neville's parents with Bellatrix Lestrange!

The mere thought of the woman made Hermione's hand travel to her forearm, where the word 'mudblood' had been cut into her skin. The action was something she's wished a long time to train away, but it persisted and now it was something she lived with, having too much else to focus on. But apparently it worked in one aspect. It had drawn Crouch's attention away from her to look at where she placed her hand. He likewise placed his on his own left arm, where she knew his dark mark was. Faded.

"You know," Hermione said, "I thought you were dead." Actually, she'd barely given the man a thought since he'd been sentenced to the Kiss. Neither did she think anyone else had. Which was as much as he'd deserved. But now, he had come back. Somehow. And people needed Hermione to find out how. Why. And just how much of him had. She was an Unspeakable and a former student of his, she was the most they had, seeing as Winky had died years ago from her excessive drinking. Not that the elf would have done anything but cause trouble. Dear lord, she might have even helped him escape. Hermione clutched her wand in a tighter grip, grateful for the measures taken to assure that it would not be able to be used against her.

Either way, many were interested in Barty Crouch Jr now, and to her dismay, Hermione realized she was too. How in Merlin's name had this happened?

"Do you know why I'm here?" she asked. As predicted, he didn't say anything. He was still focused on his mark. Hermione decided to go with that. "Do you know why your mark is faded? You realise why, don't you?"

Finally, a reaction. Crouch had clutched his fingers to tighten the grip on his arm. Evidently he did understand what it meant.

"He fell in the end. Like the mortal he was. Just a body, like anyone else," said Hermione, seeing just how far she could go, "Nothing special."

"You shut your filthy mouth, Mudblood, before I rip your tongue out!"

Barty glared at her, his eyes wild and whatever composure he'd had before was gone. Outwardly, Hermione kept her posture relaxed. Inwardly, she was dancing in victory.

"I didn't mean anything by it, I just thought you'd want to know," she said.

Barty still glared at her, his eyes filled with murderous intent and she didn't doubt that if not for the bars and the magic keeping him in place he really would have ripped her tongue out with his bare hands.

Hermione crossed her legs, looking down to her notes and then back up again. "I've not come here to rejoice in your side's loss, Mr. Crouch. I've come here to speak with you, which so far has proven difficult. I will avoid the subject of your . . . _master_ , if you oblige with any answer you can give me regarding your situation. Are we in agreement?"

"No."

"No?" Hermione blinked. "No to the agreement?"

"I want you to tell me everything," he said, adjusting the way he sat, "I want you to tell me every single detail and I want you to tell me who was involved."

"I'm not sure I—" Hermione started but stopped. Of course he'd want to know. He wanted to know who had a hand in his master's downfall, who to hold responsible. If he ever got out, he'd track every last one of them down . . . Including Hermione herself.

She swallowed. "Okay."

Lucky thing he wasn't ever going to get out, now wasn't it?

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

 **A/N: And so begins our Bartmione! Wooo!**

 **(For those of you who've read my 'Short and Sweet' drabbles this first chapter is miiiiiiiiiiildly different, but pretty much the same as the drabble about Barty and Hermione. So if you recognize it that's why haha)**


	2. Chapter 2

Value and Worth, chapter 2

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~o0o~

* * *

"You want me to _what_?"

Unspeakable Croaker, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, frowned, clearly not understanding why Hermione seemed so put off.

What. An. Idiot.

"Miss Granger," he said, clasping his hands together on top of the desk separating them, "We need to study Mr. Crouch Jr as much as possible, as _closely_ as possible. This situation is unheard of! We're simply afraid the sessions aren't enough." As soon as Hermione started to open her mouth to tell him that he had been the one to assign her to do the sessions in the first place, he raised his hand. "We are grateful you took the time to do them of course, no one was more qualified. But as you well know, twists and turns are to be expected in any research." He leaned in, "And surely you wouldn't pass on the opportunity to further study a unique case like this one?"

The knowing smirk that showed at her silence made Hermione want to hex him, but he wasn't wrong. The very fact that she'd accepted to meet with Barty before was proof enough . . .

"But where would he live?" she asked with a frustrated sigh, "Here?"

Her boss' eyes bulged. "Certainly not! We can't risk anyone other than us here! The artifacts—"

"My life?" she countered angrily. "I suppose that doesn't matter? He's supposed to follow me around all day, is it? Doing what? Staying where? How am I to keep him from hurting anyone—and oh god, I can't let him near Neville!"

Croaker let her finish her rant, clearly disliking her moment of displaying human emotion, and though he showed concern at the mention of Neville, he proceeded, his voice urging her to see reason, "Miss Granger, without Dementors we don't have much time before he escapes or hurts himself. His mind might be back, but I assure you—based on your notes— that it is not sane; who knows what he will do? Not to mention the fact that we don't know if any residual effects from the soul restoration will disappear after a certain amount of time. Therefore, if we got our hands on him, made sure he's secure with the spells and runes we've got in our private arsenal, and with someone of your caliber watching him at all times, there's less of a chance of this getting out of hand and we can study him without interference."

Hermione couldn't argue much against the points raised, but she still felt uncomfortable. Having that . . . that man with her every day?

"But . . ." she tried, "how am I supposed to work if I'm not allowed here?"

"Hm? Oh, you can put your current projects on hold for the meantime, can't you? This is urgent."

"'Projects'?" Hermione repeated, unable to resist gawking. "Excuse me, sir, but I don't believe working on more accessible Wolfsbane to be a mere 'project'! It can revolutionize—"

"Miss Granger. Enough." The usually flippant man sent her a piercing look. "I am the Head of your department, and though I know it works differently here than in other parts of the Ministry, I still expect my orders to be followed. Now, this man, horrible as he is, holds the key to some very important questions. Souls, though visible during a Dementor's kiss, have never been accessible for study before. We need to find out if Mr. Crouch Jr truly is here again and we need to know if he recalls _anything_ from being gone." He sighed. "Though of course no one expects you to be on this case for too long. We don't have the resources and you are much too valuable. If there's no progress within a year, back to Azkaban he goes. Perhaps we'll even strip him of his magic altogether."

"That could kill him," Hermione said unnecessarily. They both knew it would kill Barty Crouch Jr.

"Then that's what will have to happen. He wouldn't be much use to anyone anyway."

Hermione was dismissed shortly after that. She received information and the key to a house that would be warded for the specific needs that would arise with Barty there, to prevent him from harming her or himself. The whole time, up until she stood outside her flat, she felt an unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it wasn't solely because she was thinking about sharing quarters with a Death Eater, no. 'Use' her boss had said. Was that all people were? Did they lose their use after a while? Would she? What would it feel like if she were so easily discarded? He'd called her valuable and she'd straightened at the praise at the time, but now she felt sick.

 _Blimey, 'Mione_ , she thought, _better not feel sympathy for the bastard, or else this will turn ugly fast._

Even as she thought the words, she couldn't help but touch the ends of her hair and roll her eyes. Barty had already affected her. . .

 _Hermione had been ten minutes into their latest session, taking notes and asking Barty questions—his defiance from earlier having astonishingly disappeared after Hermione had told him about the war two weeks prior—and as she rubbed her temple tiredly, her pen (Hermione's own act of defiance to the wizarding world) had rolled away, down to the dungeon floor, and ending up right outside Barty's cell._

" _Aren't you going to pick that up?" he asked after a while._

 _Having mulled over conjuring her spare pen, Hermione quickly reconsidered as she took in the challenge in his dark eyes. 'Don't you trust me?' was mockingly clear in them._

 _Always eager for an opportunity to shock people, Hermione calmly set aside her parchment and took a couple of steps forward, leaning down to grab it, but as soon as she lost sight of the Death Eater in the process, she began to fret._

 _Silly. She was so silly. What was she trying to prove? And to whom?_

 _Her blood was pulsing and ready to burst out of her eardrums by the time her fingers touched the pen. She couldn't see or hear Barty and it worried her sick. She held her breath and when her kneeling form looked up from the ground she was startled to see Barty sitting right in front of her— behind the bars, but nevertheless too close for comfort._

" _What are you doing?" Hermione breathed._

 _He didn't answer. Much like a curious animal he watched her, and took in her alarmed yet defiant expression (She got the pen. She did it. She'd dared approach him!)._

 _A lock of her hair came into view and it was with horror that Hermione realised Barty had reached for it. But Hermione still didn't move. She was the one watching him now._

 _He brought the curls to his straight nose and inhaled. Deeply. He even closed his eyes._

 _After a furious heartbeat, he let her go and she returned to her seat, trying to ignore the that something had changed between them . . ._

She had cut her hair after that. She'd had to.

"Crookshanks?" Hermione entered her flat, discarding her cloak and toeing her shoes off immediately as called for her cat. Old he may be, but as a half-kneazle he'd prevailed this long and his hearing was exemplary so the fact that he wasn't coming out to greet her could only mean one thing . . .

"Oh, honestly," she said upon finding him hidden behind her small sofa. He let out a pathetic little meow when she lifted him up into her arms and scratched him reassuringly behind the ears. "I'm not taking you to Harry and Ginny's for at least another two hours. Calm down. Though Merlin knows how you figured it out, I haven't even fire-called them yet."

After feeding both herself and her clever cat, Hermione tossed some floo powder in her fireplace and called out for Potter Manor.

"'Mione? What's going on?" Ginny's freckled face came into view with a smile in place and baby cries in the background.

"Sorry, is this a bad time?" Hermione asked.

"No, don't worry! How are you, how's—oh, you know what, why don't you come over instead? James is driving me crazy."

Crazy, yeah . . .

"Actually, I was going to ask you if I could come over and drop off Crookshanks? I need to be away for a while for work . . ."

"'Course, we don't mind! James'll love to have a pet over, Merlin knows Harry won't allow us to have any."

"Still on about that, is he?"

"He's so overprotective, it's ridiculous!"

Hermione laughed. "See you in a second."

The fire died out as Hermione pulled her head out of the fireplace, but she remained sitting on the floor, caught up in a moment of surrealness. She was about to hand over her cat and she had no idea for how long. She would have to stay in a house with a mad man, unable to leave until her days off. There was a document on her kitchen table detailing what experiments to do on Barty. When perusing through them while eating, she'd discovered that though most of them were benign and even somewhat ridiculous (how was monitoring his tooth brushing skills going to help their research?) Hermione had to admit she did not look forward to executing them at all. It felt like her department was fumbling around in the dark blindfolded and that she'd been tasked with finding the light switch, despite being no better equipped than anyone else. Her only conclusion was that no one actually had the faintest idea on how to solve this puzzle, and that they were just poking and prodding the subject any way they could think of doing.

But then again, wasn't that exactly what scientists did? Even magical ones.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Where's Harry?"

Ginny's eyes brightened and she set down her cup of tea. "Helping out George and Ron at the shop. He had such a blast the last time that I convinced him to at least take a day a month to go there. You know, to help him relax."

Hermione smirked. "You mean to help you relax."

Ginny shrugged. "If it so happens that I'm relaxed having him out of the house every now and then, then that's purely coincidental."

"I'm sure."

"He's not awful," Ginny sighed, "he's a dream, really. It just gets difficult to do your job when he's fussing about all the things that could go wrong. And it's not like I can give Harry my breasts and have him stay home for me, either! The little Bowtruckle refuses anything but the real deal."

Hermione's face softened. "But you're still okay, though? With not being with the Harpies anymore?"

Ginny gave a half-smile. "I'm going back after my leave, so it will be fine. And I do love James, I do, it's just . . . I didn't plan on this happening so soon."

Trying to lift her friend's spirits, Hermione said, "At least you got married before anyone noticed your stomach was growing."

"Yeah, that was amazing how we pulled that off, wasn't it?" Ginny let out a laugh. "Merlin, can you imagine my mother? Oh, she would have been more horrified than the time you and Ron—" Ginny cut herself off sharply and brought her hand to her mouth. Hermione, meanwhile, had her gaze drift down to the table.

It had been three years since Ron had broken things off with her, and though things had been amicable at the time, it was harder nowadays for Hermione to be happy for her best friend when she was alone with her cat, and he was engaged to Susan Bones. She adored Susan, and Susan adored her, but the engagement had changed everything. It meant that yet another one of her friends was moving onward with their life, while Hermione was stuck in a department where she was forced to do research she wasn't passionate about.

"But you must be somewhat interested in the result?" Ginny asked after having awkwardly steered the subject to Hermione's research.

Though not able to divulge the specifics, Hermione had told her friend about her dismay over being assigned something less appealing than her original research, and that she wasn't certain what good it would do in the end. "But that's just the thing," she said, "there might not be an answer. All that time could very well be for nothing."

Ginny nodded. "I understand. But have you considered just telling them no?"

Hermione shook her head. "Can't. It's too late, I already signed that I would do it, and while it is doubtful we'll get to learn anything knew from the method they've chosen, it _is_ a highly unique case. If I were to learn something it could prove an enormous boost for my career."

"So do it then."

"What?"

"Go ahead, do it. I know how much you value these things, so I think you'll regret if you don't. Besides," Ginny leaned in and gave a wink, "what's the worst that could happen?"

 _I could die . . ._

Hermione brushed that thought away and gave a nervous smile, attempting to reciprocate her friend's air, but seeing how Ginny was thinking Hermione was going to spend her time working over a pile of books or, at the most, collecting samples, it was difficult to do. Hermione also couldn't really tell Ginny what the worst thing that could happen was because if she did there was a chance of Ginny storming into Croaker's office with James in her arms and demand the old wizard be sent to St. Mungos to check his mental health.

Therefore, Hermione simply nodded and silently sipped her tea, praying that Ginny hadn't recently mastered Legilimency.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was lucky that Barty had mastered Legilimency a long time ago.

If not for his ability to reach into the minds of those who dared look him in the eye there might have been more than one prison guard dead on the floor right now. He blinked. No, there was no body there, but he'd wished it so it stood to reason that the vision had appeared that way. Not that Barty had much reason left, even with the restoration of his soul to his body. And he had no clue as to how _that_ had happened. But he wouldn't let the Ministry know this . . .

Once he had learned that the only reason he was being moved from Azkaban—not to mention being left alive at all—was because the Ministry was just as clueless as him when it came to his soul returning, Barty had vowed to not let them find out, not until he'd escaped their clutches. He had a new mission now, a new reason to live, and he would be damned if something as imbecilic as the Minstry of Magic would stand in his way. When the Dark Lord had fallen, Barty hadn't been there, and he'd cursed himself for it every day when he returned. Now, with the help of that Mudblood Granger girl— _Hermione_ , he corrected himself—he'd found a purpose. He knew who was responsible for his old Master's demise, and he needed to seek them out as soon as he could . . .

The guard walking next to Barty got careless for a second and stepped too close, invading Barty's space, and Barty snarled in warning; already forgetting to be calm until he got the opportunity to flee. The guard retaliated with a blow to the head, like the uncivilized brute he was. Not even using a wand like a proper wizard.

His partner hissed, reminding the first guard that Barty was to be studied. The first guard watched with narrowed eyes as Barty righted himself again and licked the drop of blood that was trailing down from his forehead, disgust evident and the thought most prominent in his pea like brain being that if anything needed studying, it was Barty. It only made Barty grin and show all his red stained teeth. The guard looked away.

No matter, Barty thought. Just another face to add on his never-ending revenge list.

The guards led him through yet another check point to make sure that nothing was amiss. It was ridiculous, what did they expect him to do? Bring his piss bucket as a souvenir?

He waited in boredom while the procedures took place, gritting his teeth and occasionally licking more blood off his lips. The amount was lessening but the pain was still there, though paling in comparison to his other wounds. The ones hidden beneath the torn and filthy sorry excuses for clothes he'd been given. Though not missing the Dementors by any means, they at least had stopped before resorting to physical violence. Well . . .right up until they'd sucked his soul out.

"She's waiting right outside."

That got his attention. She? Who was she? Barty glanced at his guards, but aside from the general discomfort present he found nothing, all of them failing to grant him eye contact.

The check point wizards let them through and Barty could already feel the difference in atmosphere when led through the hallway. There was fresh air outside. Maybe even sunlight. And soon after today, freedom. He couldn't wait.

The large door leading in and out of this miserable place came into view and it wasn't long before the shackles around his feet were vanished. It appeared the idiot could do magic after all.

"Don't try anything," he warned, "There are five Aurors standing outside, not to mention a War Hero with them, waiting to escort you. You know, the ones who defeated your precious Lord."

If Barty had been the type to roll his eyes, he would have. What was he trying to do? Taunt him most likely, but didn't the fool realise that all he did was making sure that Barty got agitated which could only result in the Aurors having a harder time containing him during the transfer? The idiot was clearly not good at his job.

When the guard couldn't get more than a stare from Barty he turned disgruntledly to the door, opening it and letting Barty breathe the first stench-free gust of air he'd breathed in years. It was almost so sweet that he could taste it on his tongue. And though the sun wasn't shining and all he'd got on his first day outside the prison was a cloudy sky, the sight in front of him was brighter than anything he'd ever dreamed it could be. Because, standing there in grey robes, her hair barely contained in its small bun due to the humidity, was Hermione bloody Granger.

She'd been speaking to an Auror to her right and barely flinched when hearing the heavy oak door swing open, but as her eyes fell quickly on Barty her thoughts were so plain to see that no mind reading was necessary: she was terrified.

Barty thought it divine.

Her eyes traveled, surveying his appearance and Barty knew there wasn't much to see. But the way she was looking at him, it was as if they hadn't had several meetings before, as if she was gazing at a total stranger. Perhaps it was the change of scenery, he joked to himself. Then she stopped at his head, no doubt noticing the fresh wound there, and her façade broke as she frowned.

"Miss Granger, he's your responsibility now," the lesser idiot guard greeted her.

"Unspeakable Granger," she corrected him, turning away from Barty as if she was willing herself to do so for her own sanity, "And I suppose he is."

They went over the terms of release and Barty tuned out. His head was spinning. Never would he have predicted he'd have this much good fortune in such short amount of time. And to think he'd been wallowing in despair and self-pity just a few weeks prior!

Again, he went over his list of things to accomplish once he escaped and his black eyes were drawn to Hermione. The very first on his list. His mouth twisted into a feral grin.

 _It's just too easy . . ._

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

 **A/N: Aaaah! There it is! The second chapter!**

 **Wow, Barty has got his sights set on Hermione and she needs to live with him. Oh, quirky living situations ho ho ho. Honestly, what if someone turned this into a sit-com?**  
 **"I'll be there for you, like a psycho-crazy-death-eater-who-killed-his-own-fa~ther!"**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoyed!**

 **Until next time!**  
 **/Primrue**


	3. Chapter 3

Value and Worth, Chapter 3

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~o0o~

* * *

The house was quaint and in the middle of nowhere. Trees surrounded the area, encircling the house and small yard, the view therefore an abundance of green, with the exception of a babbling brook nearby. There was no sign of human life anywhere. In other words, the place had everything that would make Hermione's time here awful. There would be Aurors on call (they weren't anyone she knew and they had agreed to not speak of anything they saw, nor to seek out knowledge beyond what was required to do anything other than assisting as security if summoned). But other than that, she and Barty were truly alone.

Hermione took a moment to observe the forest surrounding them, a part of her forming an emergency plan and route if it all went to hell. It was something she hadn't been able to shake from her time during the war. Ron had tried to ease her from it, even having resorted to making jokes like 'Blimey, 'Mione, perhaps you should be the Auror instead of Harry and me'. The jokes belonged to the more infuriating memories from their time together, but also fell in among the fondest. Which had practically been the perfect description of their relationship to be quite honest. Infuriating, but fond. Oh, how she hated to think what he and Harry would make of this situation should they ever hear of it. No doubt they'd storm over here, demand Hermione to come back with them. To keep her safe. But she'd learned a long time ago that they couldn't. Hermione's hand went to cover the spot where her scar was, to where she'd been branded. No, Hermione thought, they couldn't protect her. Only she could. Which was why she kept on scouting the area with her eyes. However . . . it was made tremendously difficult by Barty's stare burning her neck.

The man had unsettled her since the very moment he'd walked out the walls of Azkaban. He'd barely resisted, with the exception being if someone touched him or closed in on him, but during the portkey travel itself he'd been compliant, as if he knew what awaited (Hermione wasn't naïve enough to imagine they'd told him anything beforehand and therefore found this fact disconcerting). As if that hadn't been enough, he'd been civil. She'd thought that the lack of bars would have him attack her and exact his revenge, but so far nothing. He'd merely looked at her with those black eyes of his, noticing her hair cut when she'd given up restraining it in that feeble bun. But he'd made no comment, only visibly filing that information away for later. For what, she had no idea. But she wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Someone cleared their throat and Hermione jumped a bit in surprise. She saw Barty nod at the house.

Hermione raised her chin, not wanting him to think he could boss her around. But she moved towards the house anyway, looking at anything but him as she did, not waiting to see his surely gleeful expression. She walked right up to the door which was carved with runes. A lot of runes.

She turned. "These aren't the only ones, just so you know. The whole area has them."

Barty raised an eyebrow. "If I'd wanted to escape I would have cut your throat by now."

Hermione blinked and faced the door again. "All right," she responded, at a loss at what else to say. She opened.

The house was old on the outside, the stonewalls noticeably missing a piece or two in several areas with green vines clinging to the surface, but inside it was much homier than she would have thought. According to the notes, they'd wanted to experiment around with Barty and while there might be an environmental change as soon as they saw fit, Hermione found no objection to this particular interior. That thought didn't last long however. Or more specifically, it didn't last past the hallway.

There were no crooks and crannies, Hermione observed quickly, and the whole bottom floor was open planned, presumably to avoid Barty sneaking up on her. Brilliant.

The hallway had led directly to the small kitchen, fitted with a table for two and a fireplace joining it together to the living room where there was a sofa and a bookshelf placed along the wall, facing the fireplace. The meagre collection residing on the bookshelf made Hermione sad. The wooden walls were devoid of any moving paintings, and instead held pictures showcasing different types of flowers. It strangely reminded Hermione of the waiting room in her parents' old practice.

Barty had been standing next to her the entire time, silently observing everything as well, and he was hard to read. She glanced at him for a few seconds before he caught her looking and forced her to look away. She knew he didn't like being looked at, their sessions had proved as much. But without the bars separating them (and the shackles around his hands that had been removed right before the Aurors left) she found herself less bold and averted her eyes rather quickly. Yes, there were spells in place preventing him from hurting or touching her without her permission, but they weren't tangible. She could only feel them if she concentrated and right now she was too nervous to concentrate on anything.

"Second floor next, I suppose," she said and walked up. She found, once again, an open floor plan. Two doors were on either end and she assumed those were the bedrooms. A door in the middle led to what she now realised was the only bathroom in the house. She couldn't believe it. They had to share. "I hate my job," Hermione muttered, walking with dejected steps toward one of the bedrooms. She peeked inside and found that it would have to do, comforting herself with the reminder that she most likely wouldn't be staying there throughout the entire week anyway.

Done with looking at the room, Hermione turned. And came face to face with Barty.

She gave a shriek, knocking her poor heel into the door in the process, all while Barty looked on amusedly and made no inclination of backing away anytime soon. With the door closed, she was pressed between it and him—the latter not touching her, but nevertheless too close for comfort. Her fists clenched and she forced herself to be brave.

"Would you step away, please?"

He cocked his head, as if not understanding. A frustrated noise made itself heard from the back of her throat.

"Step away. Please."

It took a second, but against all odds, Barty moved. He took a step back, granting her her breathing room, though without taking his eyes off her. It made the hairs on her neck stand. She repressed a shudder. "Thank you. And unless you want it, I think I'll take this bedroom. Though to be honest, I don't mind either way."

"You don't want to be here," he observed, changing the subject rather abruptly and speaking for only the second time since arriving.

Hermione would have laughed if she wasn't afraid what he'd do if she did. She wasn't sure what to say, because it was true that she didn't want to be here, but only because it was with him. She wanted to work on the research, she wanted to study, but she did not want it to be with him, near him or about him.

When she said nothing, he spoke again. "I'll take the other one." And after that strange display he moved to the other bedroom.

Hermione sighed. It was going be a long year.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Barty cursed. The witch wanted nothing to do with him, not to mention that she'd gone as far as to cut off the hair he'd touched. The one mark he'd made on her frail little body she'd taken away. It had taken all of his willpower not to lash out at that. And now, trapped in this godforsaken house, with trees and bird song and fields of flowers in the middle of nowhere . . . It wasn't that he'd rather be in Azkaban, far from it, but at least in Azkaban they'd had weaker spell work. This was exhausting. Simply taking a glimpse inside her head just now had drained him. Luckily, though he knew Hermione was decent at occlumency, she'd been distracted. In his cell he'd never got the chance to go through her mind, her shields being alert and up the entire time. The environment certainly doing no favours in relaxing them. But there had been one exception. When she'd dropped that muggle quill.

From then on, Barty had formed a hypothesis. He knew that when she was distracted she was at her most vulnerable, so he'd tried repeatedly to make it happen. He had asked her questions, or made absurd statements during her questionings. But none of that had fazed her. It appeared now that physical intimacy was what really distracted Hermione Granger.

So what was he going to do? Distract her.

Since she had turned out to be his new warden and examiner, Barty had known he couldn't leave. She was his destination and she was here. He would simply have to distract her. Distract her and he could sway her. Persuade her to do what she needed to do. And by doing so, he'd have what he wanted.

Not to mention that peeking inside her head could help determine exactly what he needed to do to halt the research. If he gave them what they all needed too soon, she'd be gone and he'd be back in a prison cell. Or dead.

No, he couldn't let any of that happen. It was time to take action. He couldn't fail this mission like he'd failed to be there for the Dark Lord.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Hermione's stomach growled. Again.

She sighed.

Though knowing she couldn't avoid Barty forever, she was still convinced that the least she could do was try. And though she felt ashamed staying in her room for the entire afternoon, it had given her time to come to terms with what was actually happening. Like it or not, she was living in a house with a Death Eater, and a highly devoted and mentally unstable one at that. But after unpacking her clothes and books, and her stomach demanding food for a fourth time in the last hour, she had to reconsider. Perhaps it was time to emerge from her safe place.

Closing the drawers, she wondered if Barty had anything to unpack. Did he have spare clothes or anything that was his at all? He'd been wearing prison clothes when escorted out of Azkaban, but since he would be living here now, wouldn't it make sense to rid himself of those?

 _No_ , Hermione chided herself, _do not make him a new project_. _He's not an innocent house-elf, he's a murderer. You don't knit mittens for murderers._

Her stomach growled again. Finally seeing no other choice than to obey, Hermione opened the door to her bedroom, the creak resulting being far too loud in her opinion. In spite of herself, she first checked to see if Barty was outside. When all she found was an empty space and the door to Barty's bedroom closed, Hermione tip toed down the stairs excitedly. Sadly, her excitement was instantly crushed, because while the door to his bedroom may have been closed, Barty Crouch Jr wasn't in it. He was in the kitchen. And he was surrounded by leftovers on the table.

At the sound of her arrival, his head had snapped up, the ends of his hair wet and dripping at the motion, suggesting he'd taken a shower. His clothes were new, and while not exceptionally looking, the dark purple shirt and black pants suited him and he wore them well. When Hermione returned to look at his face she found him watching her, wiping a crumb off the corner of his thin mouth with his thumb as he did. "Come out of your cave, have you?"

"You shouldn't eat too much," Hermione said, ignoring his taunt, "Your stomach isn't used to it. You could get sick." She flinched when his laughter—a hint of crazy colouring it—echoed throughout the room.

At her silence, he was prompted to settle down after a while (and even that had taken too long in Hermione's opinion), and he shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I've had worse than a bad stomach ache, believe me."

She scoffed. "Oh, I do," she said under her breath. He obviously heard her for there was a smile on him when she looked again. Bracing herself, Hermione approached slowly, steering for the charmed cupboard where food was supposed to be stored according to the 'brochure' she'd been granted. The thought of that bloody piece of paper made her seethe. It was as if her superiors thought they were sending her to a hotel.

Barty's stare followed her the entire way as Hermione moved past the table, and she urged herself not to glance back. Having her back turned against him was horrible as ever, but it was something she needed to do if she was going to get him to . . . for a lack of a better word; respect her. No answers would come if he thought he could intimidate her. It was something she'd noticed back in Azkaban. While Barty had been co-operative for the most part, this had only occurred after she'd agreed to tell him about the war. When she'd willingly and knowingly shared with him the fact that she had played a major part in the scheme that got his master defeated. No matter what that meant for her personal safety when around him.

There was the rustle of fabric behind her, accompanied by the smell of soap.

"Find anything?" Barty asked, his warm breath caressing her neck.

Suddenly, a force of energy pushed Barty away from her, making him crash to the floor. Hermione breathed in relief. The runes worked.

"I—I suggest you don't do that in the future," Hermione said, looking down at him while he rose back up. "I told you there were spells installed. I was lenient on you before, because I wanted to give you a chance to stay away out of your own free will, but apparently you can't. From now on, I won't hesitate. Don't come near me unless I tell you, understood?"

To her surprise, Barty's previously angered expression—the one that promised pain and bloodshed— twisted. He smirked. "And in what sort of situation would you ask me to come near you, Hermione?"

The suggestive and intense gaze he sent combined with the use of her name, made her blush. "For research!" she spluttered. She moved a lock of hair behind her ear and urged her pulse to slow down. "Which reminds me, I have to inform you of the reason why you're here. I take it they didn't brief you at Azkaban?"

"The only thing they told me over there was to rot and die," he said matter-of-factly.

"Right . . . anyway," Hermione said and began explaining the purpose of the research, and examples of things she'd look at. ". . . however, some of these experiments are to be conducted without your knowledge, so there will be instances where I won't inform you of when you're being watched."

Barty grinded his teeth, looking truly uncomfortable for the first time. "Splendid."

"Furthermore, I won't be here at all times," Hermione continued, not missing the flicker of fury passing through his black eyes. It terrified her, for she had no idea what had brought it on. Then again, she shouldn't forget who she was dealing with. Mood swings was sure to be expected from Barty Crouch Jr. "Erm, so I'll have certain days away from here. They'll inform me when, and while I'm away you'll be alone. But Aurors will always be at the ready, of course," she added so that he wouldn't get any ideas.

". . .that's curious, don't you think?" he asked, but not looking at her as he did. He appeared amused for some reason.

Hermione blinked in confusion. "What do you mean—where are you going?"

Barty looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "You were done, weren't you?"

"Yes, I suppose—"

"Well then." And without waiting for another response, he left. The sound of the door leading outside was heard shortly thereafter.

Alone at last, Hermione sighed exhaustedly and made to prepare herself some food, but not before glancing at the table. Everything that had looked chaotic before was upon closer inspection rather neat. There were many things across the table, yes, but each and every one of the plates had a near equal amount of food taken away, not to mention that there was a nicely folded napkin placed to the side. Astonished, Hermione let her jaw drop a bit at that part.

True, Barty was a mentally unstable killer that had recently been released from prison, but he was also a Pureblood. He'd been raised with etiquette. For all Hermione knew, he might even have cursed people with his little finger poised.

"I don't understand him," she muttered, and with a wave of her wand sent the plates he'd apparently deemed below him to wash, to the sink.

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

 **A/N: And so the quirky living situations begin! How are you liking it so far?**

 **Don't worry, there'll be more stuff happening, the two of them are just settling in for now is all!**

 **Thank you so much for the kind reviews you wrote! They've given me motivation to see this story through even more!**

 **Until next time!**  
 **/Primrue**


	4. Chapter 4

Value and Worth, Chapter 4

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

Harry James Potter was a good Auror. At least, he was the only one within his rank to ever have taken down a Dark Lord at the age of seventeen.

Ron had done it as well of course, but since he had quit to help George out in the shop, Harry owned the title for himself. And, as a good Auror, Harry could sense the shift in mood at his workplace.

A select few of his colleagues had been assigned a new project—a secret project. One that prohibited them to disclose any or all information about their orders. This wasn't unusual, he himself had been tasked with missions no one but his superiors and partner could learn. However, there was no denying that it was different this time, and what got Harry's attention was the fact that these colleagues . . .sent him looks. Looks that differed from the regular 'look it's the Boy Who Lived!' whispers they usually accompanied. Perhaps it was all due to Harry's imagination, but Harry had been getting these new looks for a month. Which was approximately the same amount of time as Hermione had disappeared for her new research.

Very strange. It wouldn't be _too_ strange, however, to assume that these two facts were connected.

' _One secret project plus another secret project'_ , Ginny had mused aloud the other day, bringing her index fingers together to form one plus one. _'You're an Auror, Potter. What do you think that means?'_

But Harry knew that his wife knew what he thought that meant. And he knew that they both were growing concerned. Having a top-secret project wasn't new in Hermione's field of work— it was called Department of Mysteries for a reason. But having Aurors present meant that her project might have proven riskier than any of them had thought and Harry would be lying if he claimed it didn't worry him. He knew Hermione was more than capable, but he also knew she had a tendency to get so wrapped up in her research that her own well-being fell short on her list of priorities. Hopefully, she'd be able to distance herself from it . . .

There was a polite knock on the wall, startling Harry to look up from his desk and to look to the entrance where a man in Auror robes stood.

"Auror Potter," the other man greeted.

"Auror Rickett," said Harry. "What brings you here?"

Anthony Rickett glanced over his shoulder and stepped inside Harry's small cubicle. "I heard you were asking about what some of the Aurors are up to—"

"Oh, that? It was only a few innocent inquires about the—"

"—and I'm here to urge you to stop."

Harry frowned and twirled his quill. "I was only asking whether or not you could disclose any sort of information. Any at all."

"Well . . .it's not possible. Believe me, we would tell you if we could, but when you ask we have a hard time not feeling guilty for not telling you more. It makes it difficult for us to do our jobs. We're your friends, Harry."

"I know," Harry said.

Rickett nodded, then leaned in and gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't worry though, we're taking care of everything, mate."

Then he left, leaving Harry to feel grateful and concerned. On one hand, his suspicions were confirmed. It was about Hermione and she was up to something dangerous. On the other, his colleagues were there to ensure nothing happened to her.

With a sigh, Harry returned to his cup of tea—cold now—and faced the pile of parchment currently donning his desk. Same nonsense as ever, it seemed. People acting up, displeased with the new Ministry. People who appeared to have already forgotten how much worse it at all could've been, _had_ been, under Voldemort's rule. Meanwhile, on another end, there were whispers of people opposing the new government because it was too much like the old government. ' _They forget that these things take time'_ , Kingsley had said. ' _They forget that the cruelty of the olden ways is so ingrained into our world's way of thinking that to pry it out all at once would cause an uproar.'_

Harry rubbed his tired eyes, allowing his glasses to fall down on the desk.

Was this why he had fought? For everyone to be miserable?

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

She was miserable. Absolutely miserable.

For the tenth time today, Hermione mentally groaned and washed in a wave of self-pity, a process she'd developed over the last few weeks to remain sane. It wasn't something she was proud of, but it wasn't something she was about to give up either. Besides, who around here would care? Certainly not _him_. No, _he_ would only lavish in her misery.

Which he was, if his current smirk was any indication.

One month, a whole entire month. Hermione couldn't believe it. She had spent four weeks trapped with Bartemius Crouch Jr.

What had happened to her superiors calling her in? Had they decided to forgo the previously hinted schedule? The one that had had Hermione envision weekends free and away from this place? Away from him?

Hermione's attention reluctantly drifted back to Barty, who was currently pressing her against a door, much like he had on their first day at the cottage. Well, he was almost pressing against her. An invisible shield was activated, preventing him from touching her, but Barty remained in the way as Hermione had yet to push him off. The reason being that the last time she'd done that (he'd slid his arms around her from behind) she had sent him crashing down the staircase. Something which Barty still hadn't forgiven her for and Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn't afraid of what he'd do if it happened again. She'd barely escaped to her room in time the last time . . . But she might be willing to risk it if he didn't step away soon.

Barty tilted his head to the side, his dark eyes watching her. "Thinking about hurting me like before?"

The threat behind the innocently put question didn't faze her as much as the words themselves, and Hermione raised her eyebrows, unable to hide her surprise. How did he do that? Know what she was thinking?

She cleared her throat. "I was," she answered. "Because . . .because this situation is making me uncomfortable."

"I was only answering your question."

"I fail to see what this has to do with—"

"You were supposed to study me here, weren't you? In the bedroom?"

Hermione felt a furious blush emerge. "No! That's not what I meant! That's not what _it_ meant! I was only supposed to observe your bedtime routines!"

There was a pause, and then, to her surprise, Barty smirked and backed away. "Boring."

While he walked, Hermione took the time to steady her pulse. Or she would have, had Barty not stopped by his bed and begun unbuttoning his shirt.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Hermione shrieked.

Barty—infuriating as ever—didn't stop, but merely kept going, holding her eye contact the whole time. "Well," he said, "I don't sleep with my clothes on."

Stomping out of his room, Hermione was down the stairs and out the door in no time, and once her feet touched grass she finally let out the frustrated growl that had been building inside her. For how long she wasn't sure, but it was more behind the sound of outrage than Barty's undressing. Or Barty himself. While the Death Eater was a menace, there was much more at work here. A plethora of reasons why her patience was wearing thin and making it so easy for him to rile her up.

All the evidence from the studies so far pointed to an inconclusive result. Whatever new theories she would manage to summon, were quickly diminished by a new discovery of Barty's case. It was as if every time she got close, he—

Hermione blinked.

 _No . . .no, he couldn't be . . ._

"Oh my god," she breathed. Turning slowly, she eyed one of the windows on the second floor. "He couldn't possibly . . ." Whatever words her mind was working to produce next died on her lips.

Barty was standing visible from his room, his smirk from earlier gone, and Hermione fought to prevent a shudder as she caught herself looking at his face. Then, when she finally averted her gaze, her thoughts filled with fear at the possibility that he wasn't just staring to intimidate, but to infiltrate her mind. Which meant that there was a chance he knew she couldn't be manipulated any longer.

 _Unless he's not strong enough to do it over that distance_ , Hermione thought. She held on to that small hope.

The otherwise tranquil babble of the brook nearby and the bird song of the forest fell to deaf, unappreciative ears as Hermione bit her lip and wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to figure out where to go from here.

The facts were these: Barty Crouch Jr was to be studied, but his results were inconclusive; if an answer wasn't found within a year, they'd strip him of his magic which most likely would kill him; if an answer _was_ found, they'd most likely do the same since he'd no longer be of any use to the Ministry then either; Barty had been part of Voldemort's inner circle as evidenced by his Dark Mark, therefore most likely possessing above average magic.

In hindsight, Hermione had a hard time forgiving herself for overlooking this possibility. For what other reason could his results give her answers in one moment, but then almost enough contradictory findings to eliminate said answers the next? Why else would someone so otherwise opposed being looked at be so keen to keep eye contact and keep close?

He'd made a fool of her. And Hermione Granger did not take that lightly.

Should she confront him then? Make him understand that she'd tolerate his interruptions no longer? Should she hex him bloody for making her stay here longer than might be needed?

That approach would have been her preferred one, had she not also remembered that she still had no proof this was what Barty was doing. No real proof, anyway.

She sighed. Perhaps she'd just focus on keeping her Occlumency alert at all times instead. It would be exhausting, but it also meant Barty wouldn't be able to look into her mind, which in turn would affect his results. Then she'd truly be able to conclude whether the Death Eater was a Legilimens or not.

Somewhat satisfied, Hermione turned to walk back into the house.

Unsurprisingly, Barty was waiting for her, his expression sour from where he stood by the window. His shirt was still unbuttoned and hanging loosely down his thin frame.

"I apologise for losing my temper," she told him, with no true intention behind the words, only the hope that he'd comply if she appeared regretful. She cleared her throat. "Let's get started again. Now, if you would just show me what happens when you . . .relax and er, lie down for bed?"

Hermione assembled her notebook, pencil in hand, and prepared to take down notes. Which was made increasingly difficult by her sudden self-consciousness— Hermione didn't want to look at him too much and it was already obvious— and Barty's reluctance to move.

A minute passed and unable to stop herself, Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. "Lie down on the bed."

"No."

No? _No_?

"I don't think you understand—"

"Why aren't you looking at me?" Barty interrupted, halting her. His words were calm. _Too_ calm. "You're avoiding my eyes. It's impolite."

Hermione swallowed. "Don't be ridiculous. Now, about the bed—"

"You're still not meeting my eyes, Hermione."

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione settled her shields in place, before meeting Barty's gaze. "Are you quite done now? Can we get back to work?"

Barty waited, his dark stare holding her in place. The intensity made her nervous, annoyed and excited all at once. She wasn't sure why.

Not withdrawing his hold, Barty took slow, deliberate steps toward her. Hermione had to continuously remind herself to maintain her shields all while refusing to look away, in part because she knew Barty would snap at her if she did, but also because her pride wouldn't allow her to do otherwise. He wanted to intimidate her with his stare? Fine, he was welcome to try. She wouldn't back down.

Nor would she back away, despite all of her instincts telling her so.

Coming toe to toe with one another, she could feel his warm breath on her face as he inched even closer. Then, his finger traced her cheek, ever so gently. It was absurd.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice smaller than she would have liked.

"Why do you think?" he countered, now twisting a stray curl around his finger, the shortness of her hair making this act a bit painful on her scalp.

"I don't . . ." she started. "I don't think you're only in it for the pain it causes me."

She didn't know why she was being honest, but since he wasn't a complete idiot she figured it might be best to tell half-truths rather than full on lies.

"Pain?" he asked, still twisting. "Interesting. But yes, I have other . . .reasons."

Something fluttered in Hermione's stomach. "Oh?" she said, hoping not to come across as too keen. "And what might those be?"

"I fancy you."

Hermione's mouth fell open, and tenth of a second later the runes activated her protection, knocking Barty brutally onto the floor.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Barty washed away the last of the blood from his elbow, mourning the loss of his wand as he did. It wasn't as if the lamp he'd crashed into hurt him, but it was a shame to stain one of his finest shirts. Nevertheless, he comforted himself with the knowledge of having Hermione thrown off her tracks. It had been dangerously close this time.

Using a towel, he dried his arm, not concerned with the red stains it left on the white cotton. To hell with towels.

"Sorry!" came a nervous exclamation, before they went around him and closed the door to the bathroom once more after he'd exited.

The pink cheeks she'd sported made him grin and he relished in the memory and the imagining of the more to come.

She'd believed him to some degree, it would appear. It might not last forever, and she certainly wasn't fool enough to think that he'd bared his entire agenda with his confession, but it would do for now.

"'I fancy you,'" Barty repeated once inside his room, and chuckled darkly to himself.

If only he'd told her his actual feelings for her, and what he really had planned, then he'd have something truly amusing to laugh about.

 _In due time,_ he thought, _In due time . . ._

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

 **A/N: Hello! Sorry it's been so long! I've had a lot of stuff (school, other projects, binge-watching shows etc) going on, but I'm trying to work more on this series. All the chapters have tiny notes so far in terms of planning and I know what I want to happen, so that's good *thumbs up***  
 **Anyway, hope you enjoyed and are all into Barty scheming and being sneaky hehehe**

 **Until next time!**  
 **/Primrue**


	5. Chapter 5

Value and Worth, Chapter 5

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

He'd made a fool of her. Again.

Hermione knew that Barty hadn't meant what he'd said the other day, about fancying her. She knew, and she had known it at the time, and still she had let the shock of hearing him say those words affect her. Honestly, _fancy_ —what were they? Twelve?

Hermione flipped another page of her tome, attempting to drown out her own embarrassment with facts pertaining Werewolf laws. Laws that enraged her enough to forget other things.

There was so much she had set out to do when she first applied for a job at the Ministry. So much she wanted to change for the better. The better of those Voldemort had sought to oppress. She had even relished in the connection she had with the current Minister of Magic, for surely that friendship could prove to be nothing but beneficial in reaching her goal, right?

Sadly, it had quickly turned out that it could. Certainly, Kingsley agreed with her thoughts regarding unfair treatment and prejudice, but he wasn't almighty. There were still endless amounts of paperwork and procedures involved when shaping or removing laws and it had quickly worn on Hermione's patience. Which was why she had settled for the Department of Mysteries. Here at least, she could continue being a scholar. Learning had always been her preference and it was also here that learning could make things happen. If she learned how to make Wolfsbane more accessible, she knew that it would change something. That's why she'd stayed and that's why she was still learning.

Babysitting Death Eaters, however, wasn't.

"Find anything interesting?"

Hermione didn't look up from her book. "Not particularly."

She could feel Barty's dissatisfaction and wasn't surprised when he sat down next to her on the sofa. Thankfully, he wasn't touching her. Yet.

"If it's not interesting, why are you reading it?" he asked.

It was an innocent question, but Hermione couldn't help but let irritation stir. Not knowing someone's motivation for doing things had always unnerved her—plenty of evidence in the past existed to prove that. And here Barty was again, trying to get close to her. Nevertheless . . . "Sometimes, we have to do things we don't like to achieve our goals."

She waited for a response that didn't come. It seemed Barty agreed with her. Thinking about it, that shouldn't have been a surprise. He had no doubt experienced his fair share of unpleasant assignments while on duty. Hermione bit her lip at a sudden thought: wouldn't there be records of him in the Ministry, ones about his days before joining the Death Eaters? She had endless files on his time following Voldemort, but what of his childhood? His days at Hogwarts? Perhaps researching those could be the answer she was looking for, the answer to figuring out his behaviour, his motives?

It was worth a shot at least.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Barty drawled.

Hermione blinked, having not realised she'd stopped reading and been staring into space for a while now. She scoffed. _As if you'd need a sickle . . ._

Barty watched as she returned to her book. "You're a lot more quiet than I remember," he said, "I remember you used to bounce in your seat, your hand raised high with answers on your lips, waiting for me to acknowledge you. So excited, so . . . _eager_."

Hermione attempted to ignore him as he leaned in closer.

"What happened to that eager girl?" he whispered.

Hermione took a small, shaky breath. "She grew up."

There was a second of silence, one which had Hermione's left side heat up at the presence of him, that very intrusive presence. One that was so solid and unyielding that you had no choice but to put up with it. When Barty finally spoke, Hermione didn't know whether to be relieved or scared. His smile certainly didn't help.

"So I see," he said, and moved away again.

Hermione inhaled deeply through her nose. She wanted to return to her book, but suspected Barty wasn't done and when he stood up to browse their bookshelf she knew he wasn't. Hermione had filled it with a wide variety of books, his reading skills having been one of the things for her to observe, but without his knowledge this time. So far he'd been interested in reading up on subjects that existed at Hogwarts, meaning he most likely wished to brush up on his knowledge and test how much he remembered. So when he picked up a volume of a Muggle written book, Hermione expected him to say something.

"Romance novel?" Barty arched an eyebrow her way. "Never took you for the romantic type. What with your dismissal of my feelings . . ."

 _That's it._

Hermione slammed her book shut. "You know perfectly well why I dismissed them, because they're not there. For whatever reason, you said . . .and we both know that you couldn't feel that way about me. I'm a Mudblood."

"So I see," he repeated, tracing her scar with his eyes. There was a faint hunger there that Hermione didn't even want to begin to understand. She resisted the urge to cover the scar with her hand.

He discarded the book to fall on the table and to her annoyance stepped up to stand in front of her seat. His knee rested next to her leg while his hands trapped her on both sides. She looked up at his face, not meeting his eyes. Through her peripheral she saw his lashes move slowly as he took her in. "Is it so strange to hear someone say they want you?" he asked.

The softness in which he spoke surprised her, but she remained mostly unimpressed. That's the thing, Hermione reminded herself. If he's telling the truth then it just proves who he is inside. He wants. He only wants. He doesn't _care_.

"You're trying to distract me again."

"Distract you?" he tilted his head. "My dear Hermione, you're the one who's distracting."

"I was here minding my own business, while you—"

"While I what?"

Hermione searched for words and there was quiet. This gave her time to note just how close Barty was and how for the first time ever she wasn't uneasy. That didn't mean she was comfortable, just not particularly _un_ comfortable. It wasn't the same feeling as it had been when they had first come to live here. The presence he had was there like always, but it wasn't hostile. It wasn't aimed at her, telling her to be vary for he could kill her with his bare hands. It was just . . .there. It was him.

And Hermione had grown used to it.

Tap, tap, tap!

Hermione startled, while Barty made a disgruntled noise. Outside the window waited an owl.

"I need to let him in," said Hermione. "Would you mind moving?"

"I rather like where I am right now," was his response.

"Barty . . ."

There were more taps on the window and Hermione rose, ignoring his lack of consent. Why would she need his consent anyway?

In doing this she missed the fact that Barty had very much let her get out of the sofa, his expression unreadable but on her. She let the owl in, unaware of how the message it carried would make the jumbled thoughts inside him even more chaotic.

Hermione unrolled the piece of parchment and said aloud: "They're releasing me from my shift. I'm to go home tomorrow evening."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Barty was not pleased. Not in the least.

Progress! They had made progress! She no longer flinched when he came close . . .well, not as much as she had in the beginning anyway. She had called him by name. Not his father's 'Mr. Crouch', but his name. _His_ . . .

And now she was leaving.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Hermione stood outside in the front yard, holding the ladle that would transport her to the Ministry. Part of her couldn't believe it was happening. Another was counting the seconds.

 _Ten, nine, eight . . ._

Then she felt it, that all too familiar stare on her back. She turned, and sure enough, there was Barty. He held the door open and was looking out from inside the house, the shadows there a clear contrast to the very sunny day, and made even stronger by his silhouette. His piercing black eyes was on her and Hermione knew they were displeased with her leaving.

 _Five, four . . ._

"I'll be back," she found herself saying.

Barty maintained his stare. "I know."

 _One . . ._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Wow! So not a word then? You're seriously telling me she hasn't told you a single thing about her top-secret project?"

Harry shook his head.

"Blimey," said Ron.

"Always the tone of surprise," said Hermione, entering the living room with a bottle of elf-made wine, and her and Ron exchanged small smiles.

"Ron, you shouldn't bother Hermione. I'm sure it's difficult for her to keep it secret under usual circumstances, but now that it's been an entire month . . ." started Susan, until Ron interrupted her.

"Exactly! It's been more than a month and she hasn't let anything slip. Unnatural that."

Ginny, who had come in after Hermione carrying glasses, poured herself some wine and rolled her eyes. "Oh, just because you're incapable of keeping a secret for more than five seconds doesn't mean we all lack restraint."

"Oy! I've kept plenty of things secret!"

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, even when he wanted to tell me things I barely understood him."

"If you're talking about the tournament . . ."

Hermione tuned out and stroked her beloved cat, watching her friends laugh and talk with a fond smile. It was good to be back. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be somewhere light.

Though she did wonder what Barty was doing at this moment. How was he faring alone? She wondered if he was trying to escape. She'd had similar concerns before. What was keeping him there? Once again, she reminded herself to check out his records.

"'Mione?" Ginny sat down next to her. "Thinking about work?"

Hermione groaned. "Afraid I am."

"Not a moment of peace with you. Though I'm happy you're not brooding over the wine; the elf who made it was doing it out of his own free will and was fairly compensated. Granted, he is _our_ elf . . ." Ginny tried smiling a little, but upon seeing the other witch's face understood she wasn't up for jokes. "Do you want to stay the night?"

Hermione gave her friend an apologetic look. "I think I might prefer going home. I miss my bed. But thank you."

Ginny smiled. "Might be for the best. James loves throwing a fuss when it gets too quiet."

Hermione smiled back and took a sip from her glass.

"We've been worried, you know. All of us. That's why Ron's giving you grief about not saying anything." Ginny looked at her. "You didn't even send us letters."

Hermione sighed. "I wasn't allowed. But I promise that I'm fine. The work I'm doing is emotionally taxing at worst."

"You're working with someone then?"

"What?"

"Well, it just sounds like someone is giving you a hard time at work."

Hermione thought of Barty. " . . .you have no idea."

There was a loud screech as Ron lost his patience and stood up from his chair to make room for his wild gesticulations.

"Look, it's not that hard to remember! I told Hermione, right, to tell you that Seamus told me that Parvati told Dean . . .!"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Hermione sighed as soon as she stepped through the Floo. Her bags were already unpacked as she had seen to it as soon as she arrived and Crookshanks jumped down from her arms to make himself home again. Which she supposed she ought to do as well.

It was going to be a long day of research tomorrow . . .

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

 **A/N: A slightly shorter chapter! Sorry!**  
 **But all righty, Hermione attempting to figure out Barty! Good luck, 'Mione.**

 **Thank you for all the lovely reviews last chapter and I hope to get the next one out faster than this one was!**

 **Until next time!**  
 **/Primrue**


	6. Chapter 6

Value and Worth, Chapter 6

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

One would think that having worked for an entire month without a moment of reprieve would drive anyone to bed with a good book for the next year or so, but Hermione Granger had never been known for taking time off. In fact, there were rumours she'd never so much as had a sick day in the seven years she'd worked for the Ministry. She was a model employee in that sense, also while being effective and thorough with her work, not afraid to stay late for the right cause. It wasn't just duty that bound her, it was passion. But unfortunately, that passion had brought forth undesired behaviour as well as desired.

If she found there was justice to be served, she'd do her very best to ensure it was. No matter who stood in her way. It had gained her allies as well as enemies. Which was why she was careful making certain no one saw her sneak down to the archives—specifically, the section handling registered and imprisoned Death Eaters.

Mulligan, the middle-aged witch in charge of the records, greeted Hermione from behind her desk with a smile and hastily waved her in—too busy with her bacon sandwich and Witch Weekly to interrogate Hermione about her day. Once in a while a story popped up in the magazines and there'd be no end to her questions, but this was not one of those times, thank Merlin.

Making a show of rummaging through the Creatures section at first, Hermione slowly made her way to the Death Eater section from there. Her finger trailed along the letters, her stomach squirming a bit at just how many of the names she recognised. She made it to 'C' and found Barty's files quickly. It wasn't a large one; the number of parchments nothing compared to the ones belonging to the likes of Avery and the Lestranges, both of which she could tell just by looking at them must have every atrocity listed. It was curious, she thought, how despite this and how it would seem that would make Barty the lesser Death Eater, she and Harry and Ron knew just how much Barty Crouch Jr's existence had come to play in Voldemort rising. When you'd achieved that, there need be little else on your list of accomplishments.

Clearing her throat, Hermione snapped out of her dark musings and instead checked out the files on Barty. Being a member of the Department of Mysteries, there were ways to ensure your workings were kept secret from outsiders and Hermione was thankful for it as she watched Mulligan eyes attempt to discern the content of the files she was holding.

"Just . . .just write down your signature here, Unspeakable Granger," said the old witch tiredly.

Hermione did just so and snuck back to her office as soon as she possibly could. That was one of the greatest things about working down at the Department of Mysteries, she thought. Even someone as new as her could get an office.

Closing the door behind her gently, Hermione set off to work. She put aside the pages detailing Barty's work as a Death Eater—especially careful not to look at the ones recounting his involvement in the torturing of Alice and Frank Longbottom, as they hurt to even think about— and studied the information available on his years in Hogwarts. Reports from his old teachers, merits he'd gained, detentions . . .there didn't seem to have been any. _Odd_ , thought Hermione, as even she herself had been forced to serve detention. He'd also been a prefect for Slytherin. That was even more of a surprise. How had a prefect with seemingly good grades come to work for—twelve O. ?!

Hermione attempted to not let her jaw fall to her desk and instead took a deep breath to steady herself. No matter. So Barty had two more O.W. Ls than her, he was still the one imprisoned for murder and aiding the darkest wizard of all time, not her. No, she'd helped defeat that Dark Lord. What did grades matter out there in the real world?

She couldn't help but chew her lip a little as she continued reading. The more she learned about Barty's time at Hogwarts, the more confused she got. She'd always suspected his intelligence, but to see proof of it was another thing entirely. To not see it shrouded in his cloud of madness. In fact, according to her findings, Barty had been rather admired by schoolmates and teachers alike. It never said liked, however, which could explain how so many seemed to have forgotten his existence. How he'd been able to rot away in Azkaban for years without anyone trying to find him after hearing he'd been alive and that his mother had been the one to fall ill and die all those years ago.

 _Admired, but not loved_ , Hermione thought and couldn't help but see the late Bartemius Crouch Sr. in her mind.

The reason to why Barty would give all of this up, his reputation and aspirations and endless possibilities to rise up in the world became a bit clearer. Why he'd trade it all to be some henchman for a merciless Lord Voldemort. Pureblooded mania aside, Barty had been looking for a father figure. Someone that would love him rather than just prop him up as a trophy. It didn't excuse his behaviour, but it could explain it. Barty Crouch Jr. was unfailingly loyal to Voldemort and had given the man his everything. To such extremes that he still, to this day, maintained his alliance, while others—like the Malfoys—had declared themselves unwilling to be associated with the matter.

To have his loyalty would be a powerful thing . . .

Hermione didn't know when she finished her research, but when she exited her office, the building was scarce on people. A quick tempus charm showed her it was past dinner time. She decided to hold on to the files and head home, longing for a warm bath and go over them again to see if there was anything else left to be found. On her way to the fireplaces, however, she ran into one of her co-workers and regretted for the first time not going home sooner.

"Unspeakable Smith," she greeted the wizard in front of her. "Good evening."

Zacharias Smith barely concealed his irritation. He'd been on his way out of the fireplace and obviously thought the same as Hermione about their meeting. "Unspeakable Granger."

Even now, years after their Hogwarts years were over, there was still something about Smith that irked her. She could remember the DA meetings they'd shared, his general attitude towards her friends—Harry in particular— and the encounters they'd had since working together at the Department of Mysteries and found herself justified in her dislike of the man. He hadn't changed.

Which was also in part of why he treated her like dirt, since he remembered the things he'd had to suffer at the hands of Gryffindors (Ginny crashing into him with a broom came to mind).

"Ah! Unspeakable Granger!"

Smith and Hermione turned to the fireplace again, seeing who was now emerging.

"Auror Rickett," said Hermione and smiled. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you!" He smiled back at her, but she noticed how his gaze also drifted to Smith. "I'm just getting something I forgot in the office. Then it's home to the wife and her attempt at cooking."

Hermione laughed. "I'm sure her cooking is lovely and that you should count yourself lucky to have her."

"You are as clever as they say," he replied, but his expression lacked presence, like his thoughts were elsewhere, and Hermione was sure she knew why. Rickett was after all one of the Aurors working on her project with Barty and now that she was here, he must be worried about Barty being left alone and what that would mean for him. To be honest, Hermione was a bit unclear on that front too, and she felt an urge to ask him about it but Smith still hadn't moved.

"We should go, Anthony," said Smith, surprising her with the familiarity. Hufflepuffs they might both have been, but it had never seemed as if anyone in Smith's house had actually liked him. Or vice versa. "If you don't have anything important to say after all, Granger?"

"No, you go ahead," Hermione responded, resisting the sudden urge to remind Smith that she had beaten him to become promoted to an Unspeakable by a full year. "Auror Rickett, I hope to see you soon?"

Rickett understood what she was asking and nodded. "Within a fortnight, I expect."

Smith didn't spare her a glance as he walked past and Rickett followed, smiling courteously. Hermione sighed. A month locked up in a house and then a meagre two weeks before being locked up again for Merlin knows how long. But this was what she had signed up for. Even before taking on Barty. This was the work of the Unspeakables; it was unpredictable and without clear reason. She sighed again.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"I can't believe you're already leaving." Harry leaned forward on the balcony railing, looking out over the neighborhood with her. He took a swig of his firewhiskey. When he handed the glass to Hermione she held her hand up to decline. Harry shrugged and downed the entire thing. "Even us Auror's seem to rest more than you."

Hermione sent him a wry smile. "Just because we're not out chasing dark wizards, doesn't mean our occupation is lacking action. And our work is never truly done, is it?"

Harry dropped any attempts to lighten the mood, as he appeared to realise what she was saying. While Auror's got the satisfaction of seeing the criminals get sent to Azkaban, Unspeakables only researched and there often seemed to be lacking a clear answer to their questions. Which had been part of the appeal for Hermione. She could get closer to finding an answer to something others deemed unanswerable. Now, however, she began to doubt all that. Doubt her ability to find an answer.

Because the more she researched Barty Crouch Jr, the less he made sense.

He'd had his whole life ahead of him. He had all the advantages possible in the wizarding world to rise. A well reputed father, countless connections among the higher ranks. Pure blood . . . Very unlike Hermione. But like Hermione—and she hated to admit it—Barty had even had the brains to persevere on cleverness alone.

And yet he'd thrown it all away.

She'd thought his need for love from a father figure had been the answer to his choices, but the more she considered this, the more she began to question it.

It was too simple.

She wasn't sure if she was overestimating Barty or underestimating herself for having found a perfectly acceptable answer. But something wasn't quite right.

Harry interrupted her thoughts and Hermione blinked and returned to watching the sunset with him, remembering how nice the gentle summer breeze was and being as much in the moment as she could. Savouring it. Somehow she was already feeling herself missing it. Tomorrow she'd have to go back.

"You promise me to be careful, right?" said Harry. "You promise not to take unnecessary risks? I know Rickett's there, and he's a good bloke, but . . ."

Hermione couldn't help it. Harry's concern moved her and so she took his hand. "I can't promise anything," she said, squeezing it. "But I'll do my best."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're not making this easy."

Hermione laughed. "When have our lives ever been easy?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The cottage was quiet. Too quiet.

It wasn't only the absence of the sound one heard when being transported through a portkey that had Hermione grip on her beaded bag grew firmer. No, it was that the whole area surrounding the cottage was silent. Even the birds weren't singing anymore. Two seconds and the place was already sending chills up her spine.

Something had gone terribly wrong here.

She attempted to explain the feelings she had away. Perhaps she had simply forgotten the animosity that surrounded Barty Crouch Jr. That could be all it was. Without her the animals hadn't seen any appeal in being here anymore. That must be the reason.

 _You're being ridiculous_ , she thought and steeled herself. It wouldn't do to get nervous and show vulnerability in front of Barty, especially after all this time apart. She couldn't risk their careful balance (of sorts) to skew and fully be in his favour.

Or perhaps . . .Hermione began to consider the possibility that Barty had somehow escaped. His unfailing loyalty to Voldemort had made him accomplish large feats, after all. Why wouldn't he have managed to escape and be out there now, looking for people to exact his vengeance upon?

But due to some bizarre nature this thought made Hermione want to go into the house even more. Because if it were true— if it somehow were true— then she needed to confirm that Barty was gone and get help. The world wasn't safe from his anger.

And so . . she entered.

The first thing she noticed was that the house was—if possible—even more silent than the outside was. It was deafening. It was . . .maddening. Hermione could already feel her neck prickle and all her nerves seemed to scream for her to get out.

Nevertheless, she continued on.

At the sound of her feet landing on the living room floor, quick and urgent steps across the room sounded, coming towards her. Hermione doesn't know whether to be relieved or worried. She doesn't have time to figure it out.

Instead, all she has time for it to turn around while her breath catches in her throat. _Barty . . ._

. . .Did not look good. He truly didn't. Oh, and he was also glaring at her.

After instinctively trying to back away and having Barty follow, Hermione catches the red rings around his eyes, the shadows under them and she deduces that whatever progress he'd made, he was now back quite a few steps. To what seems to be the state he must have been before she met him in his Azkaban cell all those weeks ago.

"Did you know?" he asks and it's the first time Hermione feels his hatred directed towards her. It was suffocating.

"K-know what?" she manages, terrified, and not able to move.

" _Did you know_?" he asks again.

"I—" In her state, she even forgets to look away and meets Barty's dark gaze head on.

She feels him attack her mind and after a couple of heavy, mad breaths through his teeth, Barty slowly calms down. His shoulders aren't heaving up and down as much and his pressure on her mental barrier is weakening. He takes a slow step back and growls to himself before stepping away. Hermione hears the door leading outside open and close with a bang.

 _What the bloody hell just happened?_

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

 **A/N: What the hell indeed.**

 **It's been a while, folks! Hello! Hope you've all been well and enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Until next time!**  
 **/Primrue**


	7. Chapter 7

Value and Worth, Chapter 7

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

The days continued in silence. And much like it had before, it unnerved her.

Hermione didn't know what it was that she had done, what had triggered this behaviour in Barty. Something had been wrong with him since before she had come back, she was sure of it. She just wasn't sure what.

Thankfully, he was no longer staring at her the way he had done when she'd first come back. That was something at least. Instead, he'd simply been held up in his room. Something in her mind had convinced him not to be angry with her, for which she was grateful. But that didn't mean he wasn't still upset.

And that was the one thing Hermione was sure of. That he was still upset, that was.

She sighed and glanced at her pocket watch once more. The seconds ticked away and she was going back home after a weeks stay, but that was still twenty-five hours away. A lot could happen in twenty-five hours.

Another spoon of sugar in her coffee and a stir and Hermione sipped in silence.

Silence again.

Occasionally there would be a creak in the floorboards, a door closing, but that was it. Hermione rubbed her eyes, admitting that the coffee wasn't helping. She wasn't sleeping well and there wasn't enough coffee in the world to make her forget or ignore Barty's presence in the house. Somehow, him being silent made him even more intimidating. At least when he spoke, she knew where he was. Now, he could be right behind her and she wouldn't know. He was more ghost than human.

"How am I supposed to observe something I can't see?" Hermione mumbled to herself.

This mission was a disaster. She had no idea how she would come back from this.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Having tired of the house, Hermione fled to the garden and sat outside, relishing in the returning bird songs and watching the sun set. A gust of wind had her close her eyes and take a deep breath. It was the most peaceful she'd felt in a long time. Just her and the trees . . . She wished to be done, to go back home. For this to be over.

Hermione whipped her wand out and erected her forcefield and Barty was knocked to the ground. Her wand still aimed at him, she stared, her mind trying to puzzle together what was happening—her reflexes faster than her conscience.

Meanwhile, Barty was growling. He got up on his knees and wiped off his clothes. It was the most human she'd seen him be all week.

Still, he was scary. Hermione swallowed. "What do you want?"

"No hello?" Barty grumbled, but when seeing her unamused look, he ran a hand through his hair and pulled at it a little. It looked like it hurt. "I was only going out for some fresh air."

 _No, you weren't_ , Hermione thought. _You wanted to scare me._

Seemingly guessing her thoughts, as she was avoiding his eyes this time, Barty shrugged. "Believe what you like."

Hermione waited.

Barty gritted his teeth. "You left a note."

Hermione blinked. "That's right. I did. I just wasn't sure if you'd agree to it."

"If it keeps _them_ from coming here, then I have to do it, don't I?"

Hermione was confused, but she wasn't sure if she should ask who 'them' were, in case was something Barty had fabricated in his own mind. She'd heard him mutter to himself before.

"All right," she said . "All you have to do is sit down . . .next to me."

Barty noticed her faltering and grew an amused grin. He sat down and Hermione fought the urge to move away.

"Er, and now, we are just supposed to close our eyes and meditate. You know, focus on our breathing and let our thoughts drift, be present in the moment—"

"Let's just get on with it," said Barty, having already closed his eyes.

"Don't you want to know why?"

"I know why," growled Barty, "They want to see if I remember anything by relaxing my mind. It won't work, but if I don't do this they'll be back. And I'd rather eat my own hand than see that half-wit again. Fucking badger."

Hermione frowned. "Barty, do you mind telling me who you're talking about?"

He glared at her, and she had trouble dissecting exactly what had caused this reaction. Perhaps it was just the fact that she'd had the nerve to ask him anything at all.

Eventually, Hermione decided to just change the subject. Something told her she wouldn't get an answer anytime soon.

"Let's just try this meditation thing," she said.

Barty sighed but did as told.

Hermione watched him close his eyes, but she let hers stay wide open . . .

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Barty returned to his room, slamming the door harder than necessary. He wasn't ready, he wasn't even close to ready. He'd thought he'd been ready.

All he wanted to do was hurt her.

Granted, that wasn't much of a change from before, but at least then it had all been about pleasure. This was . . .this was not. He had anger. So much anger and confusion, and he wished to hurt whoever breathed near him.

It was better to remain hidden, to stay away. Away from her. Killing her was not the plan, after all.

His sanity was always walking a very fine thread, but now more so than ever. He couldn't afford to lose his head, not now.

Barty sat down on his bed and clutched at his head, digging into his scalp and grabbing a fist of his brown strands of hair, the pain reminding him of what was real.

She was still here, they wouldn't touch him if she was here. She wouldn't let them.

Barty repeated the mantra, until it filled him with enough comfort to lull him to sleep. Or as close to sleep someone like him could get.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Hermione couldn't sleep. She was extremely disturbed and unnerved by all that had happened. Or rather, wasn't happening.

Barty had actively participated in one experiment. One.

But ever since the meditation (failed meditation, she added in her head), he had been as reclusive as ever, doing his utmost to avoid her. He hid himself in his room, he went out for walks around the garden, but never at the same time as her.

And to make matters worse, she was due back home tomorrow. She was already leaving and she had nothing to prove for her time here.

"What am I going to do?" Hermione groaned and sank further into her pillow, hoping the weight might fold it to swallow her up. She was too tired for this, she had no idea how to proceed. What sort of Unspeakable was she? She couldn't control her subject, she didn't dare disappoint her superiors . . .she had nothing inspiring her anymore. Just a list. A list of ridiculous tasks.

She sighed. "All right."

Hermione rose from bed and put on her cloak and shoes. There was little point in lying here, awake, and do nothing but mope. She might as well use her time to do something else.

With careful steps, she walked downstairs and out to the garden. The air that hit her as she ventured outside was cool and still, and nothing but the stars was on the sky above to light her way. Hermione preferred it that way. A moon would just scare her.

" _Expecto patronum_ ," Hermione whispered. An otter appeared and Hermione smiled at her friend. "Hello you, it's been a long time."

The otter danced around her, and she twirled with it, a laugh escaping. It felt good to laugh.

 _It feels good to know I'm still capable of recalling happiness_ , she thought to herself. A tad dramatic, she admitted, but it was something she felt all the same. This place wasn't a happy place.

After a few minutes of practicing the patronus charm, she felt strangely encouraged, and continued enchanting objects to fly at her so she could attempt protecting herself. After this, she continued recalling every other charm she knew.

It was like flexing a muscle, it was as if she had only been exercising one particular part of her body, with her everyday spells. But to return to the spells she'd learned during the D.A. was . . . something else entirely. It was there, in memory, her body remembering what to do, but it was rusty. And when she summoned a near perfect _Reducto_ on a tree Hermione couldn't help but let out a shriek in happiness.

It was then that she saw him. He was standing by his window again, watching her.

Hermione stopped and watched him back.

How long he had been standing there, she wasn't sure. But she could see that whatever he had witnessed had him interested. Or rather . . . no, it wasn't interest. It was something else. He watched her with an intensity that could only be described as _hunger_.

 _He wants to use spells too_ , Hermione thought. _We're depriving him of this._

Barty watched and then he wasn't watching anymore. Hermione let out a breath.

It was best to return to bed, she reasoned. Hermione wiped a drop of sweat off her forehead, and she was sure that, this time, she'd be asleep in no time.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Please stop that."

Hermione's foot stopped its brief tapping, and resumed the stillness she had attempted to keep until now. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Opposite her, across his desk, Unspeakable Croaker was none the wiser. He went on signing parchment after parchment, never speaking unless Hermione did something to annoy him.

"Sir," Hermione tried again, "Would you please tell me why you summoned me here?"

Croaker waved a hand, telling her to wait a second, and Hermione had to restrain herself from jumping and attacking him with enchanted birds. Then, after a moment, he finally set aside his quill, and rested his old eyes on her.

"How is the experiment going, Unspeakable Granger?" he asked.

Hermione gaped. "Er . . .how do you mean, sir?"

The Head of the Department of Mysteries had the nerve to look impatient. Croaker sighed and repeated his question. "Is there any progress? Is the subject compliant? Any changes in his behaviour of late?"

Hermione thinks on what to say. How should she answer this question? The obvious thing would be to tell the truth, but something in the back of her mind urges cautiousness—telling her that something wasn't quite right. Why ask if there was any development of late? Hermione sent reports regularly, her boss should be informed already. Unless he had reason to believe something had happened to Barty. Could he have known about the sudden shift in mood?

Hermione mentally scolded herself. What this was was nothing other than residue from the times before the war, when you weren't sure who to truly trust and thought that adults had their own agendas and obligations to people other than yourself. Harry had taught her that. Umbridge had reinforced it.

But Harry defeated Voldemort and Umbridge was laying low somewhere on the continent after the debacle that was her Ministry work during the war.

Nevertheless, Hermione's next thoughts led to Barty. What would happen to him if she decided to tell them about his refusal to participate? Would they call an end to the experiment? Would they throw Barty back into Azkaban to casually keep an eye on him or would they do as they'd promised: strip his magic away and thereby killing him?

Knowing the answer, Hermione decided on what to say. She smiled. "It's going well. There's been progress and I can assure you that the subject is behaving as well as ever. I'll send you a new report by the end of the week."

Croaker nodded, interest lost now when there were no real news. "Very well. You'll return again tomorrow evening and keep us updated. Won't you, Unspeakable Granger?"

"Of course, sir."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The portkey activated and for once Hermione was relieved to use it. She couldn't stay at the Ministry any longer, the weight of lying to her superior lay too heavy. Why had she done it? Why had she lied?

When she arrived and saw who stood waiting for her in front of the door, she remembered.

 _Oh, right_ , Hermione thought. _Because of_ him _._

"You're back," Barty said.

Hermione refrained from scoffing. "Yes, clearly."

As she moved to walk inside, he followed.

"What did you do?" he asked. "Where were you?"

"That is none of your concern," Hermione answered, hanging off her cloak and removing her scarf. She turned to where he stood behind her. "Now move, please."

Yet again, a man ignored what she said. "It is my concern. Very much so. You're supposed to be here and study me. Can't do that if you're not here, can you?"

"What are you going to do if I don't answer, Barty?" Hermione dared, her patience running thin. "Hurt me? Threaten me? Stand close to me and refuse to move?"

She glared up at him and it is then that Hermione really had a chance to look at him. And she had to hold back a gasp as she did.

It wasn't as bad as before, not nearly, but that the haunted look from last time she left him was back. The shadows under his eyes were easier to dissect when she wasn't scared for her life, and she noticed . . .she couldn't help but realise, that they look disturbingly a lot like someone had performed a _Crucio_ on him.

"No," Barty lied, after reading her thoughts.

Hermione had no time to worry about him invading her thoughts, she was too worried. "I've known enough _Crucios_ to last a lifetime, Barty. It doesn't leave any scars. Not visible ones, anyway, which makes it so useful to people like . . ."

His eyes say it and her thoughts betray it, but neither of them finish the sentence.

She finally blinked and cleared her throat. "Anyway, though there aren't any scars, there are still ways to tell if someone has been subjected to the curse. Barty . . .what happened while I was gone?"

Barty watched her, brows furrowed, and a hand reaching for her cheek. He moved a piece of her short hair back behind her ear. "You're still asleep."

Hermione's breathing got heavier, feeling his touch on her, his hand threading its way through her hair. "What do you mean?"

He growls, his fingers digging into her hair, and for some reason it makes something in her stomach flip. And not in a bad way. Except yes, _yes_ , in a bad way. "I don't blame you for being blind. I've waited before, but this time I'm running out of patience."

"Barty . . ." Hermione tried to get the words out, but there was so much happening all of a sudden, that she had a hard time even forming thoughts. "What . . . what do you want from me?"

Barty's eyes dart from her lips to her eyes, his tongue sliding out to lick the edge of his mouth. His gaze is dark and heavy and it reminds Hermione from how he looked the other day, watching her do spells. He had a want, a need . . .he looked hungry again.

But this time she wasn't sure what it was he hungered after.

Then, he smirked. "Your boss seems like a cunt."

Hermione startled. How far back in her mind had he dug his way through? If he saw Croaker, then that meant . . .!

"Yes, thank you for lying for me, Hermione," Barty whispered, leaning in even closer than before, a mere breath away from her lips. "Now . . .nevermind what I want, what do _you_ want?"

And that's when he licks her.

It's not a kiss, but it's enough to snap her out of it.

"GET OFF!" The shield activates and knocks Barty to the wall. She worries for him, but that disappears as soon as he begins chuckling. Hermione wipes at her mouth, her lips burning from the rough fabric rubbing against her skin. "Stay away from me!"

Barty continued his chuckles and though he's the one on the floor with his clothes ruffled and in disarray, from the way he acted, one would think he was the one who'd won.

"If you truly wanted me to stay away, Hermione, I wouldn't even have been able to touch you. But I did," Barty added, his lips dragging their way up. "I did."

Hermione couldn't hear anymore. Couldn't see anymore.

She fled upstairs, as fast as she could, summoning every protective enchantment against him when she'd closed the door. No way was she waking up with him standing above her bed. Ever.

 _But how did he get so close?_ she asked herself, tears threatening their way out. _How was he able to get through without me alerting the runes? Where had the shields been when he got so close?_

Her mind was a mess of tangled webs and the more she tried to pry them apart, the more she discovered she was unable to. When had everything got so mixed up? Why had they?

Of course . . . she knew the answer. Every evidence pointed to it.

Hermione collapsed against the floor, realisation hitting her hard:

She cared about Barty Crouch Jr.

* * *

~o0o~

* * *

 **A/N: LOVELIES! OMG! It's been like a year? What the duck?**

 **I'm so sorry for the long wait, I have no idea how it got to this point, like honestly!**

 **Anyway, I thank you for your patience and the fact that you still leave comments on this story! You guys rock!**

 **Until next time!**  
 **/Primrue**


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